


Daring to Begin

by bloodsongs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A restless and frustrated Harry stalks the corridors of Hogwarts in the aftermath of war, and stumbles upon a surprisingly pleasant side of Draco Malfoy he never meant to find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daring to Begin

**Author's Note:**

> (8th-year, not epilogue-compliant, pre-slash.)

The war might have been over, but some things stayed with you.  
  
Even after the countless days of narrow escapes and desperate hiding in shadows under the cover of night, Harry still kept his Invisibility Cloak close, despite there not being any real, practical reason to use it anymore.  
  
They were safe now, all of them. Ron and Hermione came out of the great battle relatively unscathed, and Hogwarts had been rebuilt. Everyone mourned their loved ones who passed when fighting for their lives in the Great Battle with flowers, tears and memoirs. For the most part, though, everything was slowly getting better, and the wizarding world embraced the dawn of a new era with Voldemort’s fall.  
  
Most of the seventh-years had returned to pursue their last year of education, and to sit for their NEWTs, while some Slytherins linked to known Death Eaters fled to Durmstrang and other wizarding schools abroad in no small amount of shame.  
  
Peace, relief and contentment rolled over the students in soothing waves; they’d taken their uneventful lives the previous years for granted before, and after the harrowing terrors they’d experienced at the hands of the Death Eaters, a quiet time at school was a nice change.  
  
Something compelled Harry to prowl the corridors of Hogwarts like he always did, however, during the dead hours when the moon was out and the halls were silent. He held the edges of his cloak towards his chest, eyes sharp and calculating as he maneuvered quietly around pillars, in and out of alcoves, breathing as quietly as he could throughout.  
  
He knew there was peace, and he knew there was no longer any need for subterfuge, for being prepared for battle at a moment’s notice, for the constant vigilance Moody drilled into him again and again and again until the very end. And yet.  
  
Harry wasn’t sure what it was that he wanted to prove when he snuck out again night after night, his heart beating frantically in his chest, his wand gripped tightly in his hand with his nails digging into his palms and spells always ready on his lips.  
  
His friends didn’t quite understand his restlessness. Hermione would purse her lips reproachfully, yes, but he thought she understood when she simply patted him on the arm and hugged him tightly, telling him that it would be all right now, that it was all over.  
  
Ron, on the other hand, was perplexed, but he never lingered on the topic for too long as he concentrated on his new relationship with Hermione. He was happy, and Harry didn’t want to worry him.  
  
Speaking of which, there was Ginny who was unhappy when Harry didn’t, well, immediately resume a relationship with her when everything had calmed down and the debris had time to settle in the destroyed courtyard.  
  
She hadn’t been unreasonable and Harry supposed he could see where she was coming from after all that had happened — a near-death experience did always cement relationships to become stronger rather than the other way around, but he didn’t quite know how to explain how he didn’t want to be with anyone at the moment, and especially not Ginny.  
  
Ginny, who was lovely and funny and great, whom he thought deserved better than the likes of him.  
  
Harry didn’t feel at peace, and he was frustrated rather than glad at the ending of the war; it wasn’t that he felt useless, or that he was itching for battle. He just felt as though there was something more he should be doing, curbing disasters caused by wizarding criminals and suchlike.  
  
After all the long stretches of days where they had practiced and fought and inadvertently killed people on the run (Harry, Ron and Hermione never talked about it, ever, about how some of their Stunners had hit their enemies who got caught in the crossfire of Avada Kedavras and nasty spells and there had been blood, so much blood, they never talked about it even when the dark circles under their eyes showed), it felt wrong to be so… passive. So inactive on a day-to-day basis.  
  
There was anger in Harry, misplaced as his magic roiled uneasily within him, wanting something to do. Possibly someone to hurt. It unsettled him, irked him, upset him, and so he patrolled aimlessly, looking for evil wizards that couldn’t possibly be lurking in the Hogwarts corridors, looking for… perhaps the word was absolution, but he didn’t know what for. For everything he could or didn’t do. For the war.  
  
It was ludicrous, feeling this way.  
  
Harry shook his head and darted quickly around a statue, footsteps imbued with a subtle silencing charm as Filch approached warily from the other side of the corridor.  
  
At least this was interesting, because it kept him on his toes and allowed him to channel all this excessive energy somewhere. He didn’t want to regress to how he behaved in fifth-year towards the others, and skulking in the corridors in his Invisibility Cloak was as good an outlet as any, he supposed.  
  
He walked away and ignored Filch’s inflammatory cackles that were directed to no one in particular (“Any of you horrid little beasties out here where you shouldn’t be after hours? Eh? You sorry pieces of dung!”) and silently marveled at anyone who would be so stupid as to answer back and get into trouble thereafter. Harry looked around, noting the increasingly cold temperature, and found that he was nearing the dungeons.  
  
Harry felt a pang of regret as he almost inevitably thought of Snape, who really didn’t deserve to die the way he did. He’d been a git to Harry for so long, but he deserved several Orders of Merlin for all that he’d done for the Order of the Phoenix during and leading up to the war.  
  
It also couldn’t have been easy dealing with James Potter in his youth, even if Harry did fiercely love the father he didn’t remember; credit where credit was due, after all. He was sorry for Severus Snape, and wished there was some way he could make it up to him, somehow.  
  
What was done, was done.  
  
A subtle rustle sounded from the direction of the Slytherin dormitories as he continued strolling, and Harry heard what suspiciously sounded like a sniffle. Blinking, he pulled the Cloak more securely over himself and went over to investigate.  
  
He peered over from the little alcove he was hiding behind. There was a young girl sitting on the ground outside the dorms, clad in the black and green of Slytherin robes. She was crying, and seemed to be a first-year; she was thin, and had narrow shoulders.  
  
Harry vaguely remembered her from this year’s sorting: a nervous-looking child whose hands had shook as she’d put the Sorting Hat on, her face going pale as she’d been sorted Slytherin. She’d held her head high, though, even as people tittered and shot dirty looks at her as she’d walked over to the Slytherin table.  
  
The discrimination against Salazar’s house was a given, but that was no call to put down new members of the house. They were all new students. Harry frowned, and pointedly ignored his own conscience berating him for his own brash and shallow prejudice towards Slytherin house members in the past. He was better than that now, he hoped, especially after Snape’s courageous deeds had come to light.  
  
Harry was ready to fling back his Cloak and approach her to see what the matter was, but as he pulled it off in the darkness and was bunching it up under his robes, he heard footsteps as someone walked out from the Slytherin dorm. He took a hasty step back while he quickly yanked his Invisibility Cloak back on, grateful for the clammy darkness, and squinted to see whom had arrived.  
  
It was Malfoy, who was cold, tall and wan in what little light there was in the corridors.  
  
The impulse to raise his wand and run forward to defend the girl from Malfoy was strong, but Harry reined it in. He breathed, and forced himself to stay still even as the blood thrummed through his veins, even as he sank into a stance for dueling. She was from Malfoy’s house, he wouldn’t harm her.  
  
Besides, he’d seen how Malfoy struggled during sixth year, and during that last fateful year before Voldemort fell to his Expelliarmus; it grated at him to admit it, but Harry had to acknowledge grudgingly that Malfoy was probably a decent bloke deep down despite his mistakes and initial prattish behaviour.  
  
Making sure he was quiet, Harry walked over softly, eager to assuage his curiosity.  
  
Malfoy didn’t keep his hair gelled back any longer after he’d returned to Hogwarts. He was as proud an ice prince as ever, but he’d kept to himself and his mates. Harry was actually rather impressed at how he’d bitten back retorts to insults students from other houses had hurled at him, given what he knew of Malfoy’s impetuousness throughout their studying years (having been the one to rile Malfoy up the most).  
  
Perhaps the blond git had changed a lot for the better, after living under the shadow of Voldemort for the better part of a year. He hadn’t said a word to Harry after he provided positive testimonials for Malfoy at his trial, only gracing him with a curt nod at the Ministry.  
  
Well, Harry would take what he could get. It was a pretty extreme gesture of courtesy coming from Malfoy, after all.  
  
As such, it completely surprised Harry when he saw what Malfoy did next.  
  
“Hey,” Malfoy whispered, kneeling down next to the hiccuping girl. She looked up at him, and her eyes widened as she squeaked, “Draco Malfoy!” The girl clapped a hand to her mouth, seeming a little mortified at her outburst.  
  
Harry snorted quietly to himself.  
  
“Yes, that would be me. That’s very observant of you,” Malfoy murmured wryly, but without any real malice to his words. He looked at her, gray eyes intense. “Why are you crying, Melissa?”  
  
“You remembered my _name_ ,” Melissa whispered in awe. “Um, sorry, I just didn’t expect…”  
  
“Of course I did. You’re a new member of our house,” He said quietly in response. “Is everything all right? I don’t think you noticed me in the common room when you ran out earlier, but you looked upset.”  
  
In all their seven years of schooling together, Harry had never had a civil conversation with Malfoy. He raised an eyebrow, astonished despite himself. Listening to Malfoy talk to another person with such concerned tones was extremely _unsettling_. He also had no idea that Malfoy could, well, act like anything other than a gigantic prat.  
  
Here in this cold, silent moment in the dungeons with a small girl and a soft smile on his face, Malfoy seemed almost… pleasant.  
  
Melissa sighed, blew her nose against the hem of her robes and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. “I don’t know, I’m new. My family’s always been in Ravenclaw, and although I know I’m great with books and everything, I didn’t expect to be sorted Slytherin. Not that I mind,” she added quickly, and Malfoy’s lips twitched, “It’s just that the other houses haven’t been kind when I met them in the corridors.”  
  
“Yeah?” Malfoy prompted.  
  
“They called me names,” Melissa continued in a small voice. “Supporter of the Dark Lord, murderer of wizardkind, things like that. But no one in my family supported You-Know-Who! It’s just that I happened to sort Slytherin, and I didn’t ask for it, did I? But they’ve just been dreadful. I don’t know if it’s going to get worse.”  
  
Malfoy patted her knee, and Harry almost fell over in incredulity at his displaying such an affectionate gesture. It was ridiculous, and Harry berated himself sternly for judging Malfoy so.  
  
The blond shook his head. “Let me tell you something, Melissa,” he began, and Melissa nodded, her eyes just a little wet. “I’ve done some things that I’m not proud of. You remembered who I was, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” Melissa said, a little uncomfortably, but seemed more like she was uncomfortable for Malfoy than because of her own discomfort or opinion on the matter.  
  
“Well. I’ve made mistakes during the war, and before the war.” Malfoy’s face darkened, serious. “I will be honest with you. I have hurt people, in my cowardice and fear, and I have made terrible decisions. It has nothing to do with my being in Slytherin, although I have boasted of that in the past.” He winced, and Harry had to bite back a laugh as he recalled some of Malfoy’s more memorable gloating about being a glorious and celebrated follower of Voldemort.  
  
Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, wispy blond hair falling in his face. He looked oddly vulnerable, and a lot more human than Harry had ever seen him, even in his outraged, spitting moments during verbal matches with Harry. “Melissa, Slytherin is a great house. But we’re all human, and I’m sorry that you have to face this prejudice because of some choice decisions people like me and some of my previous housemates have made in the name of The Dark Lord before this. People remember him as a champion of Salazar Slytherin’s ideals, for his hatred of Muggleborns, and the atrocious things he has done in the name of pride, ignorance and self-importance.”  
  
He paused, and Melissa’s shoulders seemed to droop.  
  
“People link Slytherin to V- _Voldemort_ ,” Malfoy gritted the name out, “And that will continue for quite a while, what with the Chamber of Secrets fiasco and everything. Not like I believe Potter’s incredulous story about the Basilisk, but regardless —”  
  
Harry grinned. Well, it was reassuring that Malfoy hadn’t completely metamorphosed into some completely different person overnight.  
  
“—I would like you to know, on behalf of Slytherin House, that you are welcome here.” He patted her knee again, and Melissa looked up at him again, small and anxious. “People will judge us, will question the older ones among us as to why we’re back, why we’re here when the majority of Death Eaters were from Slytherins, when some of us championed The Dark Lord’s cause.  
  
“I cannot speak for the others, but I am here because I want to make a difference; because I love this house, what it stands for, and the _people_ in it. I am _proud_ of being a Slytherin,” Malfoy defended fiercely, eyes flashing, “I am proud of Professor Snape, even if he turned out to be a spy for both ends towards the end, proud of his achievements and mettle. I will right the wrongs I have committed, and I will help restore the name of Slytherin before it was stained with hate and blood. I was younger and foolish and terribly naive in my ways, but I will do what I can to protect new Slytherins like you, Melissa, and work towards a better future for all of us.”  
  
Impressed, Harry blinked. At least Malfoy wasn’t like his father in this respect. He might’ve been too afraid to consider an alternative where he had to work against Voldemort with the threat to his family and his speech smacked of shaky bravado, but Harry was pretty sure Malfoy was being honest. It sounded almost idealistic, but he had to hand it to Malfoy; he had his heart in the right place.  
  
Melissa seemed a little stunned at his diatribe, her mouth open like a fish. Malfoy laughed — surprisingly hearty and warm, Harry had never heard him laugh genuinely before — and nudged her jaw back up with the back of a finger. She coughed and blushed.  
  
“So what say you, Melissa?” Malfoy dusted his knees, and stood. He held out a hand. “If anyone else bullies you, you can say I’ve got your back. Chances are they’ll still jeer at you, but having some seventh or eighth-years’ support counts for a lot. They’ll probably remember I’m quick with spells, at any rate.” A sliver of his old self surfaced for a moment, sharp and vicious. “Slytherins don’t let others hurt those of our house; we are loyal to a fault, and we’ll never let harm come to you if we consider you one of us.”  
  
She extended a hesitant hand, small against Malfoy’s broader palm, and grasped it. Melissa smiled. “Thank you, Draco. I was really scared and worried earlier, but after what you said… I’m, um.” She shook her head, and nodded. “I’m proud to be a Slytherin.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Malfoy drawled, just a touch of arrogance to his amused tone. “Feeling better now that you’re done with the crying, Melissa?”  
  
Melissa snorted. “Oh, fine, tease me.” Her retort didn’t have much of the intended effect given how short she was next to his tall frame, but Malfoy wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder and ruffled her hair.  “Remember, Melissa,” he continued quietly. “We have your back.”  
  
She beamed at him, all sunny, and surprised both Harry and him when she leaned forward and gave him a tight hug around his waist. “Thank you!”  
  
“Off to bed with you, then,” Malfoy coughed, gruffly, and shoved her along. “I’ll be after you in a while.”  
  
“You’re not supposed to continue staying out here after hours and all,” she began petulantly.  
  
“Don’t start,” he warned, and she giggled as she whispered the password to the wall, walking in. “Don’t worry about me, anyhow. I just…” he paused. “I just want some fresh air before I sleep.”  
  
Her face softened in understanding, and she nodded, disappearing into the darkness of the dorms.  
  
Malfoy leaned against the wall, half-closing his eyes. Harry found himself wondering what he was thinking of.  
  
Nothing for it.  
  
He shucked off his Invisibility Cloak and stepped forward.  
  
Malfoy jerked, whipping out his wand with surprising speed. “Who’s there?” He cried out hoarsely, eyes a little wild.  
  
“Relax, Malfoy,” Harry called, moving into some light so that Malfoy could see him. “It’s just me.”  
  
It was amazing how quickly Malfoy’s face shuttered, a scowl appearing on that pointy face. “What are you doing here after hours, Potter? Come to slice Slytherins open again on our chests, did you?”  
  
Ouch. Harry’s smile was a little tight after that painful comment hit a little too close to home, but he attempted civility. “That… was a nice thing you did for her. Melissa.”  
  
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Eavesdropping? How noble of you.”  
  
“No need to be snappy,” Harry countered smoothly. “I was just… taking a walk, and chanced upon you two, that’s all.”  
  
Folding his arms, Malfoy looked almost confrontational, his eyes alert. “Well, if you’re done snooping, why are you still here?”  
  
Harry paused. He hadn’t really thought of what to do beyond ditching his invisibility and initiating conversation with Malfoy. “Um.”  
  
“As eloquent as ever, even after the defeat of The Dark Lord and everything?” Malfoy sneered, but  he seemed entertained.  
  
“Shut up,” Harry managed, flushing a little in indignation. “I just. Look, I haven’t seen you after the war, and at the Ministry, and it was surprising to see you being nice to someone so new to your house. I didn’t know you had that in you.” He quickly revisited his last few words in his mind and averted his eyes when he realised he must have sounded terribly insensitive.  
  
Sure enough, Malfoy’s brows rose to his hairline. “Just because I’m a Slytherin, I can’t be considerate to members of my own house?”  
  
“I didn’t say that,” Harry mumbled.  
  
“You certainly implied it.”  
  
“Bloody hell, that wasn’t my intention.”  
  
“Sure, if you say so.”  
  
“It wasn’t!”  
  
Malfoy held his hands up in mocking defeat. “Fine, Wonder Boy.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. Their arguments hadn’t really evolved since before the war, then. But something was different, for it seemed almost cordial now.  
  
“So,” he began, fixing his green eyes on Malfoy’s cool gray ones.  
  
“So?” Malfoy snapped back.  
  
“You were being nice. And thoughtful. And sweet.” Harry smirked.  
  
It was Malfoy’s turn to flush. “Shut the fuck up. She was crying, wouldn’t you do the same for a Gryffindork?”  
  
“You don’t mean that,” Harry intoned amiably. It was kind of fun to tease Malfoy like this, irking him by being friendly. New tactic!  
  
“Ugh,” Malfoy managed. “You’re insufferable, Potter.”  
  
“As are you,” Harry grinned.  
  
They looked at each other for a moment, lips twitching as the initial tension between them trickled away.  
  
“Well, I didn’t know you enjoyed my company so, Potter, but some of us actually want to get to classes tomorrow morning instead of gallivanting around like the likes of you,” Malfoy said, finally.  
  
“Says the person who wanted to stay out some more to get some air.”  
  
“Prat.”  
  
“Git.”  
  
“Whatever, Potter,” Malfoy rolled his eyes this time. “Snakebite,” he murmured at the wall, and it opened. “Go fuck off back to your tower, won’t you, Potter?”  
  
Harry pulled his Cloak back on, his head and the upper half of his body visible through the eerie silk. “Yeah, fine,” he answered a little distractedly, and raised his eyebrow in somewhat of a mocking salute. “I’ll see you tomorrow in Potions with Slughorn, I guess.”  
  
Malfoy smirked in turn. “Yeah.”  
  
There was a long, comfortable moment, and Harry shook his head. “Well, then.”  
  
Bursting into laughter, Malfoy turned to walk in. “Leave, Potter.”  
  
“See you around, Malfoy.”  
  
When Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower later, he realised he didn’t feel so restless anymore. Instead of exploring corridors at night and feeling unaccountably angry about nothing at all, Harry thought it might be a fantastic idea to just continue riling the shit out of Malfoy in classes, only probably not in the same vein as he used to do so before.  
  
Plus, this different side to Malfoy was intriguing.  
  
This year in Hogwarts might turn out to be more fulfilling than he expected, after all.  
  
 _Fin_


End file.
